The Red Haori
by Gerren
Summary: Post-war. "Her eyes took in the vibrant color of the crimson haori and she couldn't help but to lift the item to her nose and inhale deeply. " A hint of ShikaIno at the end.


**Disclaimer:** **I do not own anything affiliated with the Naruto-verse!~**

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The return from the war was quiet – well at least for Yamanaka Ino. Originally, she had stored the pain of losing her father aside. _We're in the middle of a battle and I can't afford to be weak! _So she wiped away the salty tears forming at the brims of her lids and let a determined glint take place of the sadness. But now the war was over and everyone was returning home – or at least what was left of home. So many shinobi had died. Fathers, brothers, mothers, sisters… Friends, comrades, relatives… Some had no one to return to, others had no one to expect. How could anyone stop the sobs as a shinobi appears at their door informing them of a loved one's death? It was definitely bad to get such terrible news at your doorstep, but on the battlefield with said loved one? The worst. And maybe, _maybe if I were stronger I could've helped! If I were better, I could've done something! _But putting herself down didn't give her drive. It didn't give her motivation. It just made her feel worse.

The first thing she did upon her return was hug her mother. The woman waited at the gates with bouquets of flowers and a hopeful smile, yet it seemed as though those things wilted – the flowers included – as she noticed only one Yamanaka appear. What broke her was her daughter's pain-filled expression: Her dead blue-green orbs, the clear sign of stress and fatigue on her brow, the dried up tear streaks that she did not bother to wipe away. Ino did not hesitate to pull the woman into her arms and whisper her apologies. Onlookers passed by and did not stare for long, for even though they knew it was a sad sight, they also knew that it was common in a shinobi village. The most they could do - the most _anyone _could do – was hang their head in apology and maybe offer an expression akin to _it gets better._ Ino did not want their pity. She did not want their soothing words. She did not want their advice or their help or their _anything. I want to be left alone. _

Her mother went to the flower shop, _probably to grieve by herself, _Ino thought. Though she was not a Yamanaka by blood, that woman was just as stubborn and prideful as the rest of 'em. Yamanakas rarely cried publicly, and if they did, well that was confirmation of genuine hurt. The Yamanaka heiress, however, left for home _or what's left of it 'cause Daddy's not here and it's not home unless he's here. _There was no familiar, "_Welcome home, Princess!"_ or "_Ino! There you are!"_ She could not run into her father's arms and tell him about how horrible of an experience she had on a mission _and even though it wasn't a mission, it was the worst experience yet, Daddy. _Normally she would have rushed into her room to take a shower, but this situation was not normal. It would never be normal. No matter how much they beat it into a shinobi's skull that death was normal, it would _never _apply to what occurred. Asuma's death stung – and it damn well stung hard – but not like this. _Never like this._

She found her feet leading her into her parents' room. _I should turn back. Please, I need to turn back. I can't stay here! I can't be here!_ Her thoughts were growing frantic and her breaths ragged, but it was as if her brain wasn't transmitting the commands to her legs. No, they just kept taking her to where her emotions could not handle. Her feet stopped her in front of the closet and now it was as if her hands were taking control. In a swift pull the closet opened and she felt a familiar cloth beneath her fingers. Her eyes took in the vibrant color of the crimson haori and she couldn't help but to lift the item to her nose and inhale deeply. _Daddy. _A little more relaxed than before,she closed the closet, haori still in hand, and departed to her room.

The next day, she was out and about delivering flowers for other broken families. Her mother was at home taking care of the funeral arrangements with Yoshino Nara and Chouza Akimichi – the three allied clans always held joint funerals. Ino's mother had protested multiple times to Ino, attempting to convince her to heal, rest, and take some time off. _But you know what Daddy always said! "Even in times of trouble, a Yamanaka is always strong." I'm fine, mom. _Her eyes said otherwise and her mother felt her daughter's bottom lip tremble as she kissed her. Gone was her regular two piece chuunin ensemble. In its place was a cropped sweetheart neckline top with matching ankle length violet pants. Her exposed midriff was covered in mesh, yet her normal mesh armbands and black shinobi sandals remained. To complete her look, Inoichi's signature haori hung on her frame. Heads turned as she walked through the village not in admiration of her looks, but in note of the vermilion contrasting against the violet: it was no mystery that the haori was her late father's. The Yamanaka heiress was known to continuously keep up with the latest trends, but the haori was so much more than a mere fleeting phase. It was a staple, something that she could imagine herself wearing for the rest of her life. _It's mine now._

When her last delivery was to the Nara household, she noticed the faint lazy smile on Shikamaru's face as he accepted the flowers for his mother. It was something shattered. Something relieved. Something grateful. Ino returned the gesture with the warmth of a thawing sun, glad for the unspoken understanding between the two.

_Then again, it's always been there._

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**A/N: Thank you!**


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